


Yuuko Died on a Thursday

by zuzusexytiems



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Katsuki Yuuri, Emotional Numbness, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Endgame Victuuri, Kid Yuuri and Kid Yuuko, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Sad with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, but also Normal Adult Yuuri and Normal Adult Victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzusexytiems/pseuds/zuzusexytiems
Summary: A story about grief, mourning, and friendship that can transcend a lifetime.Or:Nishigori Yuuko's final gift to Katsuki Yuuri.





	Yuuko Died on a Thursday

* * *

 

Yuuko died on a Thursday. She was 12.

Yuuri remembers it vividly, the day the news arrived. How the freshly cut grass of their backyard was still fresh with dew, and how eagerly he waited for the sun to rise behind his bedroom blinds. Tomorrow, he and Yuuko were going to buy tickets to watch Steamboy, and he would ask her to go grab some ice cream afterwards, just the two of them.

"You know, it just so happens that Victor Nikiforov mentioned Steamboy in an interview the other week,” Yuuko had chided after practice the other day. “You like him way too much. Maybe you should go ask him out instead.” She giggled.

“I like somebody else,” Yuuri thought to say then as they headed towards the lockers, but had kept silent.

Come sunrise, his mother made him his favorite breakfast- grilled aji with an extra side of umeboshi (the kind that he loved, and Mari absolutely hated), and rice sprinkled with sesame seeds.

It had been a while since things seemed to be falling into place.

In hindsight, Yuuri didn’t think it was quite fair for the universe to keep playing its tricks on him like this.

\--

The funeral was small, a traditional one with only a number of friends and family attending.

Yuuko had relatives from Kansai come over, each flocking in the room to pay their respects. Yuuri had never seen or heard of any of them before, and wondered how Yuuko would have described them any other day.

“That’s Touma-Ojiisan,” She would probably say, as Yuuri noticed an aging man enter the foyer. “I don’t like him very much. He smells like spoiled natto, but his hair reminds me of Victor’s.”

  
He feels his shoulders shaking, tries to ground himself on the wooden floors that do nothing to ease his tremors as his classmates start to enter the room. They bow their heads as low as their bodies would allow them, fresh tears staining their cheeks. Yuuri’s had none.

  
“I’ve always told you,” Yuuko would probably say, “That it’s okay to cry, right?”   
  
But Yuuri turns his head, and behind him, all that stands is an urn as black as night, and flowers as bright as the sun that rose on the day he remembers so vividly.

\--

Sleep didn't come that night, or the night after that.

But on the third day, tears still refusing to fall, he finally succumbs to the fatigue, falling asleep with his shoes and the covers on.

And just as he closes his eyes, he feels a chill run up his spine, feels Yuuko gently place a clammy hand on his shoulder. It feels different, odd; not the familiar, comforting feel of her palms during a summer day, when she hushes him with reassurances before a performance.  
  
“Hi,” Yuuko greets, fingers tightening on him ever so slightly.

Yuuri doesn’t turn to face her, instead tilting his head towards the pink sky, biting on his bottom lip. Yuuko’s eyes trail towards Yuuri’s, sees empty brown orbs with tears threatening to spill at any second-- tears he wouldn’t allow himself to spill back where people were awake.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuko chides, smoothing out the fabric on his jacket shoulder. It’s the one he frequents during practice sessions, she notices, every rip and tear committed to memory.

  
“You’re dead,” he simply says, a sad smile playing on his lips.

And it’s uncharacteristic of Yuuri, Yuuko notes, Yuuri who would be trembling, fumbling with his words, never knowing if they’re the right ones.

His tears are now flowing freely, she sees, little droplets landing on the grass beneath their bare feet. Blue rosebuds begin to grow where his tears had settled.

“Why won’t you look at me, Yuuri?”

“You said we’d watch Steamboy together.” He whispers. “You promised.”

She grips on Yuuri’s shoulder’s tighter. “I know,” is all she says, her own tears threatening to fall as well.

“What about practice tomorrow?”

Yuuko doesn’t know what to say to this. Yuuri’s still tilting his head towards the sky - now glowing a soft purple, different shades of pink and blue dancing beautifully around them, making a mockery of their pain.

“I hate it when it gets like this,” Yuuri choked. “The moment you start to think everything’s going to be okay, but it doesn’t. It gets worse. There’s always a takeaway.”

Yuuko couldn’t keep her tears from falling anymore, either.

“I really wanted to watch it with you.” He continues, keeping an effort to keep his eyes away from hers.

“Are you sure it isn’t just because it’s another of Victor’s favorites?” She teases, but by now, in the space in between life and death, she already knows the answer: It isn’t.

“Partly,” Yuuri confesses, his voice barely a whisper. “But there’s somebody else I really like, Yuuko. There’s somebody else I really like, and she’s never going to know.”

Yuuko feels a faint blush creep up her cheeks, her tears pooling up, dripping faster this time.

“She knows,” is all she says, and there’s a silence between them before Yuuri continues:

“It’s never going to be okay again, is it?”

“It will be.” She smiles-- finally-- and by now her hands have inched themselves towards his. She moves so that she’s in front of him, tries to look him in the eye. Tries to make him see that she’s not okay with this, too. “Things are still going to be okay.”

“You’re a liar.” Yuuri sniffs back, his eyes unchanging as he gently pulls his hands away.

“I’m not. Come,” Yuuko says. “I need to show you something.”

\--

He blinks, and in an instant, the two of them are hovering above somebody’s living room.

It’s unfamiliar, Yuuri observes, but oddly feels comforting all the same, warmth surrounding him as he takes in the framed medals against the peach-colored walls and attempted minimalist decor. A strange feeling settles at the pit of his stomach, but he finds he doesn’t want it to go away.

He feels like home.

“Where are we?” Yuuri asks.

Yuuko all but smiles, gesturing towards a tall, slender man with hair like moonlight, padding around the kitchen. He, too, looks familiar, his stride that of somebody that Yuuri knows all too well.

“Yuuri?” The man calls, opening the fridge, searching for something amidst half-empty Gatorade bottles and tupperwares of day-old piroshkis. “Sweetheart?” He calls again.

Yuuri grasps Yuuko’s hand as he feels a blush run through his cheeks.

This can’t be real.

Just as he’s about to question Yuuko further, somebody else starts walking towards the man with the silver hair; this new stranger is taller, and strangely more confident- but there’s no mistaking those blue-framed glasses and messy jet-black hair.

From above, Yuuri feels his mouth hang open.

The older Yuuri walks towards the man with the silver hair, playfully circling his arms around the other man’s waist. “Good morning, Vitya,” he yawns.

Yuuko gives Yuuri a tender smile. “Do you know who that is?” She teases.

Yuuri says nothing, just watches as his older self burrows his head into the crook of Victor’s neck. “We’re out of milk, love.” the other says as he places a quick kiss on older Yuuri’s cheek, who replies: “I know. I finished the last carton yesterday.” He chuckles. “Sorry.”

Where they’re hovering close to the ceiling, Yuuri turns his gaze onto Yuuko in utter disbelief.

He blinks a second time, and he and Yuuko are standing in a large bedroom.

This time, he can feel the cold tiles meet the bottoms of his feet, and as he lets go of his grip on Yuuko’s fingers, he pads towards the bed in front of them. Two bodies, both warm and curled up against each other, are situated under the covers, with legs clearly entangled from underneath; a beautiful mess.

“Do you know who that is?” Yuuko asks again.

And suddenly he feels the softness of the cushions under his back, and he’s facing him, facing  _Victor_ , feeling the strangely familiar warmth of the other man’s skin and the cold of his toes pressed against Yuuri’s. From the foot of the bed, he can see Yuuko smile upon them, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers as she giggles.

He shifts his gaze back to Victor’s sleeping form, and he doesn’t believe this, doesn’t believe any of this, as he starts tracing his fingers against the other man’s jaw. His eyebrows furrow as he takes in Victor’s silver lashes fanning out against his pale skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest as soft snores escape plump, pink lips.

He blinks a third time, and in an instant, he sees himself in a skating rink with Victor-- the Ice Castle, he realizes-- red paint chipping off from the bleachers from the passage of time.

“Do you know who those are?” Yuuko asks again, and his jaw slowly drops as he realizes that there are posters of the both of him and Victor surrounding the area.

Where they’re hovering above, Yuuri sees the other man pull on older Yuuri’s wrists as they glide along the ice.

“Solnyshko?” Victor asks, and Yuuri is unfamiliar with the word, but it feels fitting, feels right, like a siren’s call to sea.

“Yes?” older Yuuri replies, and from above he is surprised at the sound of his own voice: deeper, certain.

“Are you okay?”

Yuuri feels a strange warmth blossom from within his chest. He sees himself entwine his fingers with Victor’s, sees himself gently pushing away the strands of silver from the other’s forehead as he presses a chaste kiss on his lips.

He thinks about it for a while, but when blue eyes meet his, he is sure.

“I’m okay.”

Yuuko holds his hand, echoing the words. “I told you,” she sings. “Everything is going to be okay.”

\--

When Yuuri wakes, the covers have been kicked towards the floor. He sees Vicchan curled up in a corner, the usual posters of Victor smiling from above him.

“Yuuri?” He hears a gentle knock on the door. Mari. “We’re leaving in an hour. We’ll wait for you to get dressed, okay? Mom’s fixed up your suit for you.”

\--

The ride towards the site is quiet, and he feels his parents wanting to break the silence, Mari uncomfortably tapping her fingers against the car seat in irregular beats. The skies outside are gray, he notes, and he wonders if it will rain during the burial - he hopes not.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Hm?” Yuuri shakes his head as turns his glance away from the graying clouds.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mari asks again, softer this time, unsure if this is territory allowed to be explored.  
  
Before the silence grows any louder, she sees a small smile curl up on Yuuri’s lips, and Mari feels herself get curious.

“I think I dreamt about her last night,” he says.  
  
Mari’s brows shoot up in mild surprise. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember what it was about, though. Just that she was in it.”

Another bout of silence passes until Mari notices another shine in Yuuri’s eyes, and while it’s uncharacteristic of her-- they’ve been known to draw unspoken boundaries around each other-- she decides to continue: “Was it a good dream?”

Yuuri thinks for a moment, watches as the inevitable droplets of rain start to race against each other as they dance on the Katsuki’s car window.

He thinks back to stormy nights crouched under pillow forts and futon blankets with Yuuko, scanning through pocketbooks of compiled ghost stories for children. He thinks of snowed-in days with her at the Ice Castle, eating cold onigiri while he and Yuuko cram their English homework by the lockers.

He thinks back to the dream, and while his mind draws a blank, he remembers feeling something, remembers feeling like home.

Yuuri turns to Mari. “I think it was. It was a good dream,” he nods, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so empty anymore. It finally blooms in his chest - a curious brew of loss, pain, and longing for home - and he feels tears begin to slide down his cheeks quickly, effortlessly.

Mari holds his hand, grasping his fingers tight.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri sniffs, the determination oddly familiar, because this time, he is sure: “I will be.”

The sun shines again the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a really long while since I published anything online, so I hope anyone who reads this with a fresh pair of eyes finds it okay. Any kind of feedback would be greatly, greatly, greatly appreciated!
> 
> Onto a more serious note:
> 
> I drew my inspiration for this fic from my OCD, of which I was diagnosed with in 2012.
> 
> I feel that such a huge part of OCD is the fear of losing control. OCD cases are unique to each individual, but mine stemmed from the belief that there was a law of equivalent exchange where happiness and contentedness were concerned, like being too happy would mean something bad would happen shortly after, etc.
> 
> It was only when I started getting the proper treatment I needed- including lots of support from my loved ones and my therapist- that I began embracing the loss of control, which is key to managing OCD. And what I've come to realize is this:
> 
> Both good and bad things will always happen in your life, regardless of what you do, or what you don't do.
> 
> It's what you make of the situation, how you handle it and deal with it, that will ultimately predict the outcome.
> 
> This fic dabbles a bit on that concept (or at least tries to).
> 
> Anyway!  
> Huge shoutout to @malfunctioninghypothalamus for beta-ing this fic. If you're into BNHA go check her stuff out here on ao3!


End file.
